


Aftershocks

by susieboo



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Harm to Children, Nightmares, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susieboo/pseuds/susieboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. After graduating from Westerberg High alongside his girlfriend, J.D. joined the army. Years later, the war still has a stranglehold over J.D., and his relationship with Grace and Audrey, his twin daughters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershocks

_Sherwood, Ohio - 2005_

"Dad - Dad, this isn't Iraq, you're home!" Audrey Dean said. Her twin, Grace, didn't say a word, and just shrunk back against the fridge. 

Just about the only good that ever came of the Gulf War, at least for J.D., was that it killed any taste for blood he ever had. Shooting a man one on one was one thing - living in a warzone for weeks on end, bombs shaking the ground and gunshots filling your ears, was quite another. Back when he'd graduated high school, he thought a solider was the perfect job for him. Kill people and be hailed as a hero for it. What other (legal) job could claim that? (Besides being a cop, but he figured that'd take too much time, and wouldn't pay for college, should he decide to go.)

He and Veronica didn't know she was pregnant until he was already overseas. He'd never exactly wanted to be a parent; after all, he didn't exactly have a great role model for fatherhood. But when Veronica told him she wanted to keep it, J.D. allowed himself to look forward to it. In fact, he even got a little excited. He suggested the name Audrey when he found out Veronica was carrying twin girls, and she named the other Grace. When she decided to make Audrey's middle name Heather, he insisted that Grace's middle name be Megan.

But not even the thought of the life that could wait for him if he made it out alive could change the fact that the war was hell.

For the first time in his life, J.D. had friends in the army - and he watched almost all of them die via sniper's bullets or bombs on the field. He had more innocent blood on his hands than he ever expected. Killing was easy when they deserved it, but turned his stomach when they didn't. He tried to do what he'd done with killing the students at Westerberg, delude himself into believing the civilians deserved it, too, but not even he could buy those lies. By the time he returned home, and met his now three year old daughters, he had a Purple Heart, and enough violent memories to last him several lifetimes.

Returning home hadn't been as easy as he expected, and he couldn't just quietly settle into a semi-normal life with Veronica like he'd wanted.

He had never desired normality more than he desired it the first night he had a flashback upon coming home. 

It was a few months after he'd returned. He'd had nightmares, as expected, and jumped at loud noises, but was otherwise stable. Or as stable as he could be. But one night, a firecracker mistaken for a gunshot ripped J.D. out of his home in Ohio and placed him right back on the field, gunshots grazing against his cheek and the smell of corpses filling his nostrils. Someone was moving towards him - they had a gun - they were going to kill him, he'd never get home if he didn't - 

" _J.D., STOP_!"

And like that, it was over. He was in his living room, gripping his wife roughly by the arm, panting heavily. 

The twins were in bed, thank God. J.D. let go of Veronica, and ran his hands through his hair before placing them on the table, leaning against it.

"Fuck."

He and Veronica spoke at length, about PTSD and flashbacks and therapy, but couldn't reach a solution they both liked. They agreed, however, not to tell the twins what had happened. At three years old, they were far too young to understand. 

But here and now, in 2005, at the age of fourteen, they understood plenty. Grace and Audrey had grown up loving their father, but keeping him at arm's length, much to his dismay. He was too panicky, too unstable, and too haunted to be someone they could like and trust, at least before middle school, when they learned about WWI and shellshock. From then on, they'd made an effort to try to understand their father a bit more. They had grown closer, and even began going to him for advice sometimes. But against a fully-grown, trained-to-kill veteran who was convinced he was in a combat zone, they were powerless.

Veronica had gone on week-long booktours around the state before, as "test runs" to see if J.D. had recovered enough to look after the twins on his own. During all these tours, she was always close enough to return to Sherwood if need be, but nothing happened. J.D.'s nightmares continued, but he hadn't had a flashback in many months by the time Veronica's first national tour rolled around.

She'd kissed J.D. goodbye and assured him that he'd be just fine, before hugging and kissing her daughters, reminding them to go to Gran and Grampa's if anything happened.

Veronica had been gone for a week when something did.

They'd been in the kitchen, making dinner, when J.D.'s grip on the butcher's knife he was using to cut the meat suddenly became very, very tight, his knuckles going white. He froze in place, eyes squeezing shut.

"...Dad?" Grace said quietly. She had no idea what had triggered it this time, but she knew what was about to happen, and that it was about to get very, very unpleasant. 

J.D. didn't see his two daughters as his daughters, or even as people. They were targets - and they were a threat to him. If you asked him right then, he would've sworn up and down he was in Iraq and that it was 1991. He could feel the hot sun, the wind, the sweat dripping down his nose. 

All Grace felt was her stomach drop as her father raised the knife. 

Audrey, a fire lit in her by seeing Grace in danger, moved in quickly and kicked him hard in the shins, knocking the knife from his hand to the kitchen floor. She realized attacking him may make matters worse, but it was adrenaline, not logic, that motivated her.

"Dad - Dad, this isn't Iraq, you're home!" she said, trying to push him back, raising her hands in surrender.

J.D. breathed heavily, wild eyes darting, glancing over the twins but never looking at them. Then, with an animalistic quality to his movements, he lunged forward, hands going for Audrey's neck. Audrey screamed, but if the neighbors heard, they didn't respond. Long, manicured nails clawing at her father's face, Audrey kicked at his shin again, then his crotch, which hurt him just enough to get him off. 

Grace was still backed up against the fridge, frozen in fear, but Audrey grabbed her by the wrist, and moved towards the front door. The stumbling footsteps behind them told them J.D. was following. The flashbacks rarely lasted this long - and there was no telling when he'd come back out. 

Audrey threw the front door open, shoving Grace out first, and was about to go out herself when J.D. grabbed at her collar, his breath in her ear. 

"Get off - get off - get  _off_  - !"

She struggled, but he was much stronger than her... until Audrey noticed his free hand resting in the doorframe as he leaned against it. 

With a final burst of strength, Audrey forced herself from his grip and onto the porch, before slamming the heavy, wooden door on his hand. Both twins flinched at the horrid  _crunch!_  and the sound of J.D. screaming in pain. But they didn't bother to see if he was alright - it wasn't their father in there, after all. He was replaced by someone else, Audrey reminded her sister, as they ran down the sidewalk and into the night, heading down the familiar path to the home of Veronica's parents.

Their father came back about ten minutes later, finding himself curled on the floor of the front hallway, cradling a broken hand in his other one, panting.

Oh, God.

Slowly, he moved towards the phone and managed to dial Veronica's cell.

"Veronica...? I fucked up, Veronica. I fucked up so bad..."


End file.
